The Fourth of July
by Bluemist45
Summary: England faces his usual depression on the Fourth of July, but his idea isn't exactly what most people would call 'good'.


**Hello. This is your typical depressed England on the fourth of July. Not the best-written thing ever, or anywhere close to it, and the characters are most likely OOC. Sorry, still rather new to writing... I will most likely redo this after I get the hang of it. Anyways, have fun reading!**

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I suppose you think that this will be a story about England and America, most likely with forgiveness as part. No, this is not that story.

England sighed as he set his glass down. Soon, he knew that he would discard the glass, and drink straight from the bottle, something a gentleman shouldn't do. However, today he didn't care. He didn't want to care about anything.

Wales had grown used to the fact that his younger brother was depressed around this time. While he never had the best relationship with England, he still did his part in making sure that the blond didn't hurt anybody by locking up all the knives in the house; giving a knife to a depressed drunk is almost as bad as giving a knife to an angry drunk.

You may recall that this isn't about Wales.

The bottle, full, half-full, and empty, play other characters in this tale. So far, four have perished. A fifth was on its way. By now, he could barely see. It didn't bother him, as he had nothing that he wanted to see anyways. His thoughts were disoriented, only allowing a few things to be made clear, and that took effort. _It was a good idea to by ahead of time... _After all, by now, any sane barkeeper would have kicked him out, worried that he would die of consuming too much alcohol. He couldn't explain to them that he was a nation, and wouldn't be dead for long. This train of thoughts gave him an idea, which he sloppily scribbled down on a piece of paper.

Now, as I said before, this is not a story of forgiveness. It is also a rather unhappy tale, in which there will be no 'happy ending'. See his idea is truly awful. He doesn't plan to hurt an innocent, or even the one that causes him this sorrow every year.

In the morning, England had a headache that was even worse than those from his pirate days. He stumbled into the kitchen in order to make some tea- he had to clear his head. Earl Grey, two sugars. He took a pill to relieve his head pains, then he rested on the couch. He noticed a to-do list written in handwriting that either belonged to America or a drunken version of himself.

He had known that he had a problem, but could this be a solution? Is it possible for a nation to do that? There was one way for him to find for the headache to fade, he thought. He thought about the flaws in his plan, when and where to carry it out. He also realized that his tea required more sugar.

His idea scared him. He pushed it away, avoiding the thought of it, for nearly a year. But, unfortunately, there was a day on which he shatters. On July fourth, he was ready. He was not going to drink today, instead he managed to attend the world meeting. He was rather glad that it was being held in England. He was rather quiet throughout the meeting, not even arguing when he was referred to as 'Iggy'. Nobody questioned his behavior, assuming that it was because of the date on the calendar. Most were surprised that he had even showed up.

America didn't tell him, but he was actually rather happy that England showed up. But, as I said before, this story is not about forgiveness. Maybe is America had said something, it would. It might have been different. But it isn't.

After the meeting, England quickly left, and hailed a taxi. _I need a break from this. I just can't take it. _After about thirty minutes, he reached a city park. He took out money to pay the driver, also giving him a generous tip, and got out. As the taxi drove off, he turned away from the park and began to walk.

He hummed to himself as he climbed a staircase. Reaching the top, he smiled. For once, it wasn't raining, allowing him to see the vast amount of blue that was the sky. He walked over to the stones on the edge. Looking out, he allowed himself a smile; it really was a beautiful day. Shame to ruin it. He turned around, gaze wandering the grey stonework. He leaned back, smiling. Freedom.

And with that, he fell.


End file.
